


Unholy Yarder

by Azmodel



Series: Unholy Players [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen, implied Johnlock (hints), mentions of Sherlock - Freeform, serial killer lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azmodel/pseuds/Azmodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is a respectable man, one Sherlock considers to be the best of the Yard. Still the man has secrets no one would imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unholy Yarder

**Author's Note:**

> It's Greg's turn, if anyone wonders how the DI came to be a serial killer.

Unholy Yarder

  Greg had always been a popular boy : friendly, dynamic, adventurous, loving sports… He wasn’t too bad at academics either. So his parents just couldn’t fathom why he didn’t have a best friend as children his age usually did? Or even a group of close knit little tykes? Being inseparable from his football pals? Maybe he just had too many friends and didn’t want to make any jealous by favouring another...?

  They weren’t too worried by it per say, but it was bit strange. For a kid taking so much pleasure in company it was a bit off for him to stay somewhat apart from the others.

  Actually, while he enjoyed being the center of attention, he didn’t want all those others too close. Sure he loved how his schoolmates fought among themselves to have him with them, but he didn’t like  them .

  On his time free of the nuisances his age he had a secret hobby : no one knew how entertaining it was for him to “play” with errant animals. How he tamed them little by little with food, and then put his hand on their neck and squeezed the life out of them or broke their necks. The choice depending on how they had claws or sharp teeth mostly, since pain was not something he liked. The innocent creatures never saw it coming and almost never had time to defend themselves as the surprise was complete. 

  The very first time had been an accident, to be fair. Eight-years-old little Lestrade held a wounded pigeon much too tight as he brought it to his mother, until all struggle stopped. Being told then that the bird was dead left him stunned. The animal in his grasp had been alive and was no more. All because of him. Instead of guilt and sadness the boy had felt excited to have such control over the weak being. Of course he had wanted to heal the broken winged thing he’d found, but having killed it was even better. 

  Not that he did it often after the initial one. It took much time and finding an animal to tame. On top of that, he didn’t feel the need to repeat the act. Or very rarely when things were not going how he wanted them to and the frustration built up, so he would take it out on what most of the people living around considered pests.

  The neighborhood never noticed anything since the bodies were intact and no traces of violence left. Errant pets eventually died, of old age/starvation/illness/exposure/whatever, everyone knew that.

 

* * *

  Growing up added girls into the mix. They all found him charming, a simple smile making them melt. And hell if they didn’t shamelessly oggle his arse during football practice. It was new and it was fascinating to play with their attraction to him, letting himself open to flirting and pleasing the young ladies.

  No need to say High School and University went at an impressive speed : between sports, studies and dating/bedroom activities his hands were quite full. The young man discovered with some curiosity that courting was quite alike his taming of animals. Well, aside from the killing of course, he had long since understood how his ‘darker’ side was better left hidden since no one else seemed able to understand. Sometimes the urge would appear, to put his hands on delicate necks and... just… twist. But he never acted on it since his hopes for the future certainly did not feature staying behind bars in any way.

 

* * *

  Defending other weaker children from bullies had always brought him the most positive appreciation, and he enjoyed the gratitude received in return of his protection. Since no other career options interested him much it came as no surprise that he joined Scotland Yard. Everyone was so proud of their brave Gregory.

  He didn’t just want to be a policeman though, the middle of the hierarchy being much more his thing : being a man of power and still having enough contact with the victim’s families to receive the thanks, all the while having a team to do most of the legwork. He aimed for Chief Inspector. Going even higher might prove to have other advantages but time would tell. One step at a time.

  It did not take him long after his degree to become a police constable in the Criminal Investigation Department. He had been put in other branches of the force before but this one was exactly where he wanted to be. Violent crimes didn’t phase him much, and his build was perfect for intimidating suspects. Plus the variety of crimes to investigate on  would prevent him from getting bored.

  In his personal life a six months long relationship lead him to ask an attractive office worker to marry him, which was enthusiastically agreed to and the date set for a year later. It was his fifth year in the NSY and a good time to settle down, the companionship of living with a significant other being very enjoyable. Maybe they could have children as well… Sure he didn’t care for most people, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have a protective, nurturing and affectionate side for those who made it into his heart. And, no, it did not always end in death.

  However by the time he reached Sergeant tensions had started to appear between him and his woman. Despite knowing of his career plans and how time-consuming his job was, it became painfully obvious that his other half had thought marriage would make him change his habits and slow down on the work charge. That he somehow would just refuse to show up when summoned in the middle of the night or the week-end. Or boring family dinners. Like criminals would keep office hours. As she was proven wrong many a cold shoulder were turned to the cop, and the frustration was making his hands itch but he knew he couldn’t indulge in the urge. His culpability would be much too obvious and he did love his wife.

  Things got a bit better when his espoused decided to take evening activities for a thing or another. It seemed to help her with the resentment of being left on her own with nothing to do when work called him in. He didn’t find anything amiss at first since a strange, oh-so-strange man had appeared near one of his crime scenes. The dirty drugged outcast solving crimes aloud had all his attention, even more so when he proved to be right. Not wanting to read too much in what could have been a fluke he tracked the hobo down and asked for explanations. In the light of day the man looked to only be in his mid twenties, Greg realised with surprise. Wanting to test what probably was a Uni drop-out the copper started running some of his cases through the clever youth. Sherlock Holmes was a fascinating character to say the least and his accuracy impressive. 

* * *

  Unfortunately it didn’t take a genius to realise his wife was cheating on him. The woman was much too cheerful after her “fitness classes”, and a very little but noticeable amount of smugness shone through her countenance. But he wasn’t part of NSY’s CID for nothing and he knew she believed to have pulled the wool over his eyes. Just by following her it was quite easy to confirm she was indeed meeting with an instructor even if the only physical activity they got up to was sex.

  Little bitch ! The rage that assaulted him was almost too much to contain but he managed to keep his head about him. He had seen enough results of passion crimes to know it didn’t help get over the betrayal. If she wanted to play, he would play. Though he doubted she would like his own brand of game if she ever found out. 

  For a Sergeant as well liked as he was it turned laughably simple to gather all that could be found on the lover. It turned out he was an everyday bloke, nothing even vaguely dodgy about him, and very fond of one of his cousins. Time for the police officer to take advantage of his status.

  So, one cold winter evening he presented himself at the cousin’s door. Putting on his professional serious persona, letting fake worry and compassion subtly leak through, the woman didn’t even pause to think before following him when told her cousin had been in an incident and was asking for her to come fetch him. He led her to a tranquil alley with a nicely frozen pavement and devoid of CCTV. Just to be safe. When she got to pass him by on his invitation he made her trip and fall violently, hitting the back of her head with enough force to crack the skull. Since she was still breathing despite having heard the crunch of bone, he then broke her neck. It was only human to make her death swift, Greg had nothing against her after all.

  No doubt forensics would believe the fall killed her, she  had  sustained what he was sure was a fatal injury when going down. So dangerous, those slipping pavements. A large grin was splitting his face as he drove home.

  Curiously a week later Mrs Lestrade stopped going to fitness. Rumor has it the coach needed a family leave after the tragic accident that cost a dear relative’s life. The detective couldn’t have been happier, his urge had been fulfilled and his wife had lost her lover. No one had even suspected foul play.

  It isn’t to say the witch didn’t do it again, and again, and again. Always a new activity, as if it could fool him. The bint never took note of how tragedy seemed to follow her lovers’ cherished ones. Each and every time Greg would take the opportunity to scratch that itch under his skin and let his frustration out on those insignificant people. After all they were just tools to achieve his objective : make the men indirectly pay for his wife’s infidelity. The fact that they didn’t know they were being punished didn’t matter, the Sergeant knew and it was enough. Usually the incidents - be it accidents or muggings gone wrong - were not enough to stop the liaison, but he’d had his revenge. The wife never noticed a thing, still believing to keep him in the dark as to her extra-conjugal flings. “If only she knew,” he would think darkly, “she wouldn’t strut around so proud of herself.”

 The yarder was quite gratified to say that Sherlock, the all seeing consulting detective he called in for his hardest cases, never found out either. Not that he was ever sent to investigate on one of his own kills. Obvious, since most were ruled as simple accidents or people going missing. It was quite advantageous that his job had given him a pretty good insight on perfect corpse hiding places and his car was never checked. What of it, if he liked strolling along the Thames banks in the evenings? It was very relaxing. Mostly after a kill, but he kept  that  detail to himself.

 

* * *

  Detective Inspector Lestrade knew he was an attractive man, but he had never been tempted to bed a woman other than the one he had wed. It would somewhat make him lose the moral high ground, if there was even such a thing as far as serial murders were concerned. Still, they were payback for her recurrent adultery so he had a sound reason for his acts.. After almost seven years of the situation he no longer held his other half quite as dear but for a divorce he would have to admit being cheated on and his pride wouldn’t let him. His rank, his stature and unusual silver streaked hair opened many opportunities to him even without the uniform’s allure, but if one was really tempting him it was not one of those. It was probably never going to be offered what he wanted.

  Even after years of knowing him Sherlock was still mesmerizing. Watching him in action never got old even if it was often frustrating not getting any explanations, just the solution. And since one ex-army doctor entered the picture the dynamic between the two men was drawing him in. An easy camaraderie, fleeting little touches he sometimes noticed in passing, and the attractiveness of both flatmates… For all the years he had believed himself to be straight he was starting to seriously reconsider. 

  One can imagine his surprise when a new serial killer appeared -not that it was confirmed yet- and the sleuth didn’t hassle him to join in the investigation. He wasn’t in charge of the murder, mind you, and only one victim had been found so far. Still the lack of clues and clean if bloody way of killing spoke of experience according to the DI in charge. Donovan and Anderson were crowing that the hyperactive consultant was losing his touch if he hadn’t heard about it yet. Lestrade didn’t believe it for a second, but. The genius  loved  serial murders. He could clearly remember the “Study in Pink” case…

  Greg was not stupid despite what some may think because of his use of an external help. And connecting the dots didn’t take much when he remembered how the tenant of 221B Baker Street had a sudden blank in his deductions about the cabbie’s shooter. Even going as far as to order Lestrade to forget it all, that he was completely wrong. It probably took knowing the sleuth as well as he did to notice the slip.

  The “New Jack the Ripper” as the papers had dubbed him might not be only one man after all. The yarder might even have an inkling as to where to find them… And didn’t that open a whole new world to the isolated manslaughtering DI? Because no one else came anywhere close to what he was deep inside : a serial killer bringing justice for his day job.


End file.
